The Visit
by farewellmypalomar
Summary: A Wastelander visits the Tops, where he comes across an interesting stranger.


You can't deny the ugliness beyond its walls, but you sure as hell _forget_ about it.

For a while, anyway.

The first time I go there, this Freeside bum with a face full of green boils sprints to the gates, but the bots shoot him down. One scoops up the body and wheels away to get rid of it. It was done so quick and clean.

I almost admire the efficiency of the whole thing.

I gratefully hand over my pouch of caps. I stride right in as they tell me to enjoy my stay.

It's only appropriate to arrive at night 'cos Vegas in the day is like seeing a showgirl without her makeup. I'm here in my best clothes and best caps, tailin' it from Ma's warnings. Doesn't she know I've got a reason to risk my trip here? I'm nineteen. Sure, only the two of us in the world aware of that, but it's time I made such an event a _something. _

There's debauchery all around, NCR soldiers tottering this way and that, slurring at the bots. Hookers are dancing up the sidewalks, one of them beckons me. I jut my hands in my pockets and walk on.

One of the Brahmin merchants I got a hold of gave me a rundown on the hotspots, he was unenthusiastic, as though he got used to it. I tried imagining that, getting tired of Vegas.

Gomorrah wasn't for the wholesome, the White Glove somethings were too snooty, the Tops was nice beyond the ring-a-ding bullshit. No one was ever allowed in the Lucky 38.

I head for the Tops.

The Chairman Greeter gives me an automated smile. ''Welcome to the Tops, fella. I'm gonna have to ask you to hand over any weapons you may have, this joint's safe as houses, you won't have a need for them.''

''Does this switchblade count?''

''It sure does, baby. You'll get it back on your way out. Enjoy yourself.''

I don't see high ceilings and clean floors too often, so I take the time to take it in. Dressed up folks go this way and that. There's Old-World music blaring and it gives a bop to everything I see, the way the waitresses skirt past you, the way the dealer shuffles his deck. It's all in time to the music, and I'm reminded that I'm too much of a Wasteland product to fit in.

I don't even know where the _hell_ you start with these casino games. No Caravan player in sight.

I sit at this table. The woman across me is dressed in this black number and she's looking down at her drink. She up looks at me, her hair spruced and poofed. She looks like one of them Commies but she's real pretty, in a snooty sort of way. She raises an eyebrow at me.

''Howdy,'' I say.

''Can you please sit at another table?'' Her voice is low.

''You got a date waitin'?

''He should be here.''

''Don't mind me, ma'am. I don't really know how to get to grips with things here, so I'm just gonna sit it out and look busy.''

''First time here?''

''Yeah,'' I sigh. ''It's like nothing I've ever seen.''

''No doubt, you look painfully out of place.''

''So does that dent at the side of your noggin'.''

She instantly puts her hand up to it. ''I'm sure it does.''

''S-sorry, I didn't mean to be r-''

''It's alright. You were just being frank, in retaliation to my own frankness.''

''Yeah,'' I nod. ''Sorry.''

She looks down and swivels her cocktail. I twiddle my thumbs and curse myself stupid. I know she's not of here, she doesn't have that look to her, she just scrubbed up, to blend in with the rest. I think of asking her name, but I have a feeling she doesn't have one she cares to tell.

She said she was waiting for her date, she doesn't look so nervous and lovin' about it. Maybe she's just annoyed at my presence. I'm hoping he doesn't come quickly, so I can piece together something conversational. I wanna talk to this woman, as off-putting as she is, I know she ain't gonna give me any intimate time of day, but I wanna take something away from this place. A memory from this virginal spell in Vegas.

''I live with my ma near Primm. What whereabouts you from?''

I think she softens. ''I just run errands for people.''

''Errands?''

''Jobs. Gigs.''

''Like, er, bodyguarding? Delivering?''

''Yes.'' She smiles.

''Even a little killing?''

''If necessary.''

''Oh,'' I lean back. ''You don't look the _type_.''

She smiles again. ''I clean up well.''

''No foolin'.''

She swivels her drink.

''So, got an NCR man waitin'?''

Her nose wrinkles.

''Yeah. I don't like 'em either.''

''Hm.''

''Just there to tax you to your balls and not be there for your caravans. Then again, I take 'em over Legion any day.''

''Yeah?''

''I hope they hold the Dam. I don't want Legion to take over, they treat women badly, they have these weird beliefs, and they wear _skirts_, I swear I saw one of 'em by the hills, in this damn skirt-''

''Shush.''

''Huh?''

She puts a finger to my lips. ''Shush.''

This man in a chequered suit starts swaggering down the stairs, a cigarette in his mouth. Bodyguards tail him. These two lady gamblers giggle when Chequered Suit gives 'em a whistle.

That's when Ladyfriend is gone. She goes past me, so quiet I don't even notice. She's like an actress taking to the stage, just putting this character on, one leg at a time.

He's still walking to the end of the room. She goes past the guards, all liquid, and taps him on the shoulder. He turns.

I don't her say anything, I'm sure she _doesn't_ say anything, not with all this heavy talk and music in the air; she probably just smiled at him.

But that's when the cigarette drops from his mouth.


End file.
